


the space between our fingertips (4.45cm)

by yesterday



Category: DRAMAtical Murder - All Media Types
Genre: Family, Gen, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-14
Updated: 2015-01-14
Packaged: 2018-03-07 13:01:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3174400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yesterday/pseuds/yesterday
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a door in the house that Theo can't open.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the space between our fingertips (4.45cm)

There's a door in the house that Theo can't open.

It's located in a seldom used wing, the carpet and portraits that adorn the walls leading down to it free from dust solely due to the diligence of the housekeeping staff.

Behind that door is his brother.

 

* * *

 

As far as doors go, this one is perfectly innocuous and exactly like every other door Theo's ever encountered at home. Paneled and made out of solid wood, the muffled crash and shatter of something breaking behind it is what stops Theo in his tracks in front of it on a stormy day when he'd been attempting to amuse himself by wandering the halls.

He pauses, uncertain of what he heard. At his age, he's too old to believe in ghosts and things that go bump in the night, but with the wind howling outside and the rain coming down hard on the windows... well, his imagination runs wild. But what follows the noise isn't a ghost rattling chains; it's a faint wail that subsides into barely there sobs.

Concern takes over, his fear cast to the side, Theo runs up, and completely forgetting all his manners, tries the handle first. It doesn't budge. Rapping his knuckles sharply on it, he calls out, "Hello? Hello? Are you okay? What's wrong?"

Silence.

Then something-- no, _someone_ slams against the door with enough force to shake it. The vibrations run through the palms of Theo's hands to his elbows. He presses his ear flat against the wood, listening.

"Let me out," says the voice on the other side of the door. "Let me out, let me out, let me out, _please_ \--"

It starts out quiet, the plea, and then escalates with every repetition into an earnest shriek for help. Stumbling back from the door, Theo realises with an abrupt jolt that this voice is familiar, he _knows_ this voice- it's his brother's, but what is he doing in there?

"Wait!" Rattling at the doorknob with all his strength, Theo desperately tries to wrench it open to no avail. Soon, his own shouts are mingling with his brother's, "It won't open-- I can't open it, I'm sorry. Just- wait, I'll get someone... I'll get you out of there!"

"Young master?" There, striding down the hall towards Theo with a laden tray in his hand is a familiar face. It's one of the family's servants, a butler whose brow knits together at the sight of Theo's agitated face.

"Please, you have to help him. The door's stuck, and he's stuck!" Theo babbles.

"I'm sorry," he says, frown deepening. "You shouldn't be here."

"But my brother," says Theo, tugging at his sleeves. "You have to do something."

"Your parents..." the butler says, and then falters. He sets the tray down on a small, decorative table adjacent to the door. Behind it, the screams have died down to whimpers. Theo glances anxiously at it, and he doesn't understand, can't begin to understand why nobody is helping his brother. Shouldn't they? Whenever he falls and scrapes his knee and dissolves into tears, there are always soothing, comforting words and hands that tenderly dress the wound and tell him everything will be all right, it's just a scratch.

"I don't understand." His eyes feel hot, frustration welling up inside him along with something uncomfortable the longer he stands here, doing nothing but listening to his brother cry helplessly on the other side of the door. "Why won't you do something?"

"I'm sorry," the butler repeats, before reaching forward to scoop Theo up in his arms. "For now, you ought to go back to your room."

"No," Theo cries, "I don't want to, I have to help him," he repeats, struggling and kicking and trying his best to worm his way free. But exhausted and confused and worn out from his afternoon, Theo's eyes blurring up as they exit the hall, he gives up and sags wearily against the butler as he's carried away from the door, and from his brother.

 

* * *

 

"Theo, stay away from there from now on," says his mother, smoothing his hair back from his face.

"Why?"

"Because," his father says, turning the page of his newspaper, "that boy is nothing but trouble."

"What did he do?"

A pause in the conversation fills the room, his father and his mother exchanging glances at one another.

"He's not like you or me," his mother explains. "He's... different."

"A monster, more like," scoffs his father. "And a disgrace. You listen to me now, Theo- it's better if he stays in there."

"You'll understand when you're older, dear." his mother reassures him. "Now, it's time for bed."

And that was the end of that- Theo goes to bed disquieted, the multitude of questions churning up inside him.

 

* * *

 

What Theo doesn't understand is _how_ his brother is different from him and his parents. On the outside, he looks just like them- arms, legs, feet, hands, face. Hair. Everything that ought to be in place is there. If it isn't something that sets him apart there, then that leaves... the inside?

But the brother in his memories is always kind and gentle to him; he takes his hand in his and leads him along. They played the same games together, shared their toys with one another, and he was the one Theo would go to when he was upset.

Only a couple incidents stand out in his mind.

One: a scraped and bleeding knee, an unnaturally swollen, black and blue ankle. His brother had fallen down while playing outside with a couple boys his age, and come home without so much as a single tear or complaint to their parents, who had been horrified. Theo hadn't understood; wasn't it all right? His brother is in the midst of the hubbub, maids flocking around him with bandages and ice, docile. Their eyes meet, and the confusion on Theo's face is mirrored on his brother's.

Two: more blood and mess, this time accompanied by an angry parent who is dragging his brother through the house by his arm, demanding to speak to their parents. He's gesturing, saying things like _unnatural_ and _keep him away from my son_. Again, his face is puzzled.

What did he do wrong? it asks.

What did he do wrong? Theo thinks, and then.

Did he do anything wrong?

 

* * *

 

"Please," Theo pleads with the same young butler he'd encountered the first time he discovered the door, holding out the stuffed rabbit toy, its ears flopping into its button eyes. "Give this to him for me."

The butler glances around anxiously, first left, then right. There's no one in sight aside from himself and Theo, the boy determinedly blocking the door with his small body. He thrusts the stuffed toy persistently up at him, and the butler wavers. There's no harm in it, is there?

"My brother," Theo says, his brows knit together in childish confusion, "must be lonely. I'm not allowed to see him, but this way..."

He trails off, unable to express what he wants to say, can't put his feelings into words adequately just yet. But his conviction is evident- from some distance in the house, someone is calling for him. Theo takes advantage of the butler having his arms full with the serving tray, setting it carefully in the crook of his arm.

"That way, he won't be completely alone." is the last thing he says before he runs off. Someone is calling for him, calling _Theo, Theo_ , over and over again.

Shortly after, the young butler resigned from his post, before Theo has the chance to ask him whether or not it was delivered to his brother.

 

* * *

 

His parents do their best to prevent Theo from going near the door, enlisting the help of the staff in the house to usher him away from it whenever they see him loitering in front of it. However, they have their duties too, and his parents weren't always around.

Those are the moments when Theo stands in front of the door, flattening his palm against the grain of the wood. Beyond it, if he concentrates, he can hear his brother crying. But his voice sticks in his throat, any words that he wants to say and knows he should shrivels and dies before they can be born.

He leans his forehead on the door. It's cool. Closing his eyes, his throat tightens and constricts again, until the only thing he is left with is his thoughts, circling over and over in his head. The handle is right there within arm's reach, but when he turns it, it doesn't open. Theo thinks of learning how to pick locks, of breaking down doors, of speaking to his parents again. He dreams of a million ways to free his brother from that room.

But the strength to talk to his parents about him never comes to him. Eventually, he begins to wonder if it's because he's afraid that they'll do the same to him, and if he's _glad_ that it's his brother, and not him who's been locked up. And he hates himself for it.

One day, the crying stops.

Silence.

No signs of life.

It's a quiet that unnerves Theo more than he would have thought possible. No matter how much he strains, he can't here a thing. Not even when he gathers up the courage to knock, calling out his brother's name quietly. Nobody answers him.

That night, he argues with his parents about his brother. The following week, they pack him up and send him out of the country to "broaden his horizons", his father shouting down his every protest.

In the end, he couldn't do anything at all.

 

* * *

 

When he finally returns home a couple of years later, his courage and bravado falters again. He can't bring himself to ask about his brother, and he can't bring himself to go see for himself.

Yet he has to know. There has to be something he can do now, even if it's only saying what he wanted to say to his brother all along. Even through the door would do. So down the corridor he goes, his first few steps uncertain, and then picking up their pace.

By the time he reaches the door, he's slightly out of breath, his pulse racing in his ears. The door itself is unchanged. Of course- Theo knows that they're built to last, and the house is kept in tip-top condition anyway. Nothing less would do. But it isn't the door that he cares about now.

He raises his hand, holding his breath, and then raps his knuckles against it firmly.

It swings open.

"...what," says Theo, dumbfounded.

How long he stands in front of the half ajar door, he doesn't know. When he pushes it open and slips inside, it's dark. Theo gropes for the light switch, turning them on.

His brother isn't here.

What remains in the room-- well, it isn't entirely accurate to call it that. To begin with, it'd always been one of the unused suites that was typically reserved for a guest who came to call. There was a bed, of course, but also a bathroom, and a small sitting area. Without any dust to judge by, Theo can't even tell how long his brother has been absent for.

He wanders through the empty room, searching. For what, he couldn't say.

But he finds it when he reaches the bedroom. Sitting on top of the covers, the stuffed rabbit rests peacefully among the pillows. Theo perches on the edge of the bed, grabbing the rabbit gingerly and setting it on his lap. It's worn, yet both of its eyes remained intact, and though tattered around the edges, it looked as though it'd been treasured-- despite being left behind.

Theo returns the toy to its proper place carefully, standing up. He retreats from the room, and takes one last glance backwards as he exits.

He doesn't shut the door behind him.

Somewhere out there in the world is his brother. Theo doesn't know where he could be now, and he's certain that his parents wouldn't and didn't care about his whereabouts, but he's out there. Somewhere. There's no telling whether or not they'll ever meet again, but Theo vows to himself that if-- no, _when_ they do, he'll set things right. He won't make any excuses for himself. Not anymore.

 

* * *

 

"Hey," says his brother the next time they meet. He is an older, taller version of Theo, hair still in the same style it was when he was a child. Short and cropped in messy layers. His face is more angular, eyes sharper and faint, regular marks here and there on his face. His hands are tucked in his pockets, gaze briefly resting on Theo and then sliding away.

Theo's jaw drops, and he stares unblinkingly at him until he shifts his weight from one foot to the other, and an awkward silence fills the room, his parents saying nothing. Theo barely notices them.

Mouth closing and then reopening, Theo finds that every single word and speech that he prepared for this moment have leaked out of his brain, mixed in with his tears which he blinks from his eyes furiously- they're blurring his view of his brother. His body moves on its own, legs stumbling forward and he seizes him in a tight hug that fails to leave so much as a centimeter of space between them. He's gulping for breath.

His brother's body is stiff, but Theo hangs on persistently, and inch by inch, he relaxes and hesitantly pats Theo's back.

He can't even gasp out his brother's name.

"I'm... I'm so glad." In between sobs, Theo manages to finally say, "Welcome back, Nii-san!"

"Yeah." says Noiz. "I'm back."

**Author's Note:**

> and the rest, as they say, is history.


End file.
